


Out of the Frying Pan

by moonblossom



Series: The Devils of Hell's Kitchen [2]
Category: Constantine (TV), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Blind Character, Frot, Gambling, M/M, Not-quite-one-night-stands, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:45:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/pseuds/moonblossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Constantine's found himself back in Hell's Kitchen for a poker game. Only this time he thinks he'll drop in on and old friend first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Frying Pan

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've posted in over half a year. I was stuck in such a rut, and a not-great place, but I'm feeling much better now. I apologise if this feels rusty. Comments are loved.

Summer in New York City may have quite possibly been worse than Hell. And that was no hyperbole. John Constantine was intimately familiar with Hell, and at least it was a dry heat. The humidity here was making his shirt cling to his back. Sweat beaded his hairline, even as the pink light of dusk began to gild the city's skyline. It was pretty -- if you ignored the fact that the colours were being enhanced the smog.

He stood on the curb, smirking at the little brass sign outside the building. _Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law._ It had taken him a while to track the office down, but he'd stumbled across a news article about _Matthew Murdock, blind attorney_ and was willing to bet he was the same person as _Matt Murdock, blind vigilante_.

Rolling an unlit cigarette in his hand, John glanced at his watch. It was getting late, maybe Matt already gone for the night. He was debating packing it up and going home when the metal safety door swung open. A pretty little wisp of a thing, all gold hair and sharp angles, stepped out first, holding the door and laughing at something. John couldn't quite make out what the conversation was.

He cocked his head as Matt stepped out of the door, leaning on the arm of a sweet-faced, laughing man. His hair was long and slightly unkempt, but his smile was wide and mobile. He was holding his arm out for Matt in a way John found endearing. They seemed to get on quite well, and it took John a moment to realise he was slightly jealous. He laughed at himself, getting ready to turn on his heel and leave, but then he noticed the way the other man caught the willowy woman's eye and realised he had nothing to worry about. Not that he'd have had a right even if Matt were involved with the man. They'd both made it pretty clear what had happened that night was a one-off sort of thing.

But John had caught his mind wandering more and more often, wandering to that strange blind man with the sinful lips. He'd found himself in Hell's Kitchen again for a poker game, and figured it was time to throw caution to the wind.

Carefully, he stepped up closer to them. The woman looked up at him, half-frowning. "I'm sorry..." she said quietly. "We're closing up for the night, can you come back in the morning or is it an emergency?"

John smirked, holding up both hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not here for legal assistance," he said, making sure his voice was clear. He could tell right away that Matt had recognised him. His eyes were obscured by red sunglasses, but the flush across his cheeks was unmistakable. He turned his head and whispered something to the man holding his arm before pulling away and stepping up towards John.

"What brings you back here?" His voice was just as John had remembered; warm and a little bit rough, laced with dry humour.

John pulled a playing card out of a pocket and reached carefully for Matt's hand. He placed the card in Matt's palm and folded his fingers over it so Matt could feel the raised bumps denoting the suit and value. 

"Fancy a game of poker?" he asked, a smile in his voice. John was certain Matt would be able to hear his amusement, and he replied with a grin of his own. It was slow and mischievous, downright filthy with those plush lips of his.

Matt turned back to his companions and whispered something, and the two of them nodded. "John Constantine, my co-conspirators; Foggy Nelson and Karen Page. Guys, this is, uh... John Constantine." John nodded, holding his hand out. The one Matt had called Foggy reached out and shook it heartily. Karen seemed a bit warier, but smiled at him nonetheless. John caught her glancing sidelong at Matt, noting the flush on his neck but saying nothing. John wondered how much they knew about their co-worker's extra-curricular activities and stifled a chuckle. He wasn't sure how they'd react to finding out he was a costumed vigilante who hooked up with strange men in churches.

They murmured a few goodbyes, and Karen and Foggy seemed almost eager to duck off in the opposite direction. John suspected they had extra-curricular activities of their own to be getting on with.

John filled Matt in as they walked towards the nondescript building where the games took place. He'd figured Matt's heightened senses would make him the perfect ringer - they'd all assume a blind man would be even more oblivious to tells than an average Joe and hopefully let their guards down. Matt, bless him, found the whole thing hilarious. At least, he did once John made it clear the people they'd be fleecing were scum of the lowest order. It wasn't immoral if they were taking back ill-gotten gains. Or, at least, it was a bit of a grey area. Matt seemed to be more than accepting of grey areas, which was probably a good thing considering John basically lived in them.

***

The game went exactly as intended. Everyone seemed keen to play with the Braille deck, no doubt anticipating an easy victory. John admired Matt as he bluffed and bumbled his way through the first few deals before slowly and stealthily observing them in that uncanny manner of his. Of course, none of the wankers were willing to admit they were being robbed blind. Or, rather, robbed _by_ the blind. So they just sat there and took it rather than confronting anyone, getting increasingly frustrated and making more and more stupid mistakes of their own. 

John relaxed and let things play out naturally. He had to admit, Matthew Murdock was far more fun to watch than the cards were. While there was no mischievous twinkle in his eye, John was learning to recognise the quirks and twists of those plush lips. He could tell Matt was enjoying himself. And he wasn't too proud to admit the whole con was doing unexpected things to his libido. He had no clue if Matt would welcome his advances this time, but John was desperate to find out. He lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke upward to join the heavy miasma of cheap cigar fumes already hanging there.

A nudge to his foot knocked John out of his vaguely inappropriate reverie. Matt kicked him again, a little less gently this time, and he looked up. The other men at the table looked mutinous, and Matt was trying to give him a cue that it was time to leave. John pulled their winnings into his pockets before he stood and rolled his head, a satisfying crackle emanating from his neck and shoulders.

"As lovely as it's been, gents, my companion here and I have people to do and things to see." Despite Matt's apparent handicap, John was certain he'd just been glared at. He bowed theatrically and backed away from the table, guiding Matt to the door. Whether Matt actually knew where it was or not was a moot point, they had to keep up the charade until they were out of view of the blokes still at the card table.

***

The manic energy between them was palpable as they stepped out into the muggy midnight air of the city. They were riding high on the rush of endorphins brought on by their winning gambit. John nearly grabbed Matt and pushed him against a wall, desperate to feel that mouth against his again, but he still wasn't sure what was permissible and what wasn't. After all, they'd both made it clear that their previous parting may have been the last one. He'd already overstepped his boundaries, showing up at the offices of Nelson & Murdock. He lit another cigarette and shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning awkwardly against the wall.

"So..." Matt's voice was a little rough. John found himself hoping - wishing - it was from arousal, but it could just as easily have been from the smoke at the poker game or the smog that had settled over New York City like a blanket. "You got any plans for the rest of the night?"

And bugger it all, there was no denying the note of hope in his voice. He wanted John. Or, at least, wanted to spend more time with him. Throwing caution to the wind, John flagged down a taxi. He had a pocket full of ill-gotten cash, there was no way he'd take Matt back down to the shitty boarding house he'd spent last night in. He wouldn't have cared about the dim lighting and the peeling wallpaper, but the mattress was limp and sagging and John had used sandpaper that was more comfortable than the sheets. There was no way he'd subject anyone else to that, especially not if the evening unfolded the way he was hoping it would.

A cab pulled up and he held the door open, guiding Matt carefully into the back seat before tumbling in himself. He caught the cabbie's eye in the mirror and nodded.

"The Tribeca Grand please, mate. And don't dawdle."

The cabbie looked over his shoulder, brow raise. "It's the Roxy now. You still wanna go?"

John reined in the words dancing on his tongue and made a gesture with his hand. "Whatever, yeah, go on."

"You're the boss. We'll be there in twenty."

He'd felt Matt stiffen beside him as he'd named their destination.

"We don't have to get a room. We can just grab a drink in the bar."

Matt laughed quietly. "No, I think a room's fine. I'm just worried about the cost. Besides, I know why you chose it. Funny man."

"The Church bar? I had to, then, didn't I?" John huffed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. Quickly, he folded them, following the instructions he'd found online. Part of him suspected Matt had other ways of denoting currency, but it wasn't like they'd ever had a proper discussion about it. Or much of anything, really.

He handed the bills over, grinning as Matt's features shifted into an expression of shock. There was enough in his hands to pay for several nights in a deluxe suite at the hotel in question, and John still had some aside in his pockets.

"No wonder they weren't happy with us," Matt laughed again. It was nearly a giggle, and John found it far more entertaining than he should have.

The cabbie made good on his word, and they pulled up to the hotel less than twenty minutes later. John made a point of throwing in a sizeable tip, and the cabbie just winked inappropriately at him.

Checking in late with no reservation was less of a hassle than John anticipated. The woman at the counter did give them a bit of a judgemental once-over, but it was hard to tell if it was because they were two men or because they both looked like they'd slept in their clothes for a solid week and neither of them had seen the business end of a razor in twice as long. Either way, once he pulled the money out of his pocket, her demeanour shifted almost instantly. It was amazing what doors a big wad of ill-gotten cash could open on short notice, especially in the city that never slept.

The elevator ride up to their room was silent and heavy, but not in a bad way. Several times, John had to restrain himself from throwing Matt against a wall and snogging him senseless, but if they were going to do this on a real bed, they were going to do it properly. Not that their first unexpected meeting hadn't been fucking fantastic, but there was something to be said about an old-fashioned romp in a posh hotel room.

John held the door open and let Matt in, guiding him by the arm before following him. He watched as Matt turned this way and that, as if he were looking the room over. One day, maybe John would ask him how much he saw - if anything. Assuming they ever saw each other again. Right now he had other things on his mind.

Matt took a few careful, precise steps towards the bed and stood there, facing John's general direction. He drummed his fingers against his thigh, a nervous gesture John hadn't witnessed in him before. He pulled his eyes away and glanced around the room, hunting for a mini-bar. He knew as soon as they opened it, he'd be charged to the teeth, but _in for a penny, in for a pound_ , right?

"Drink?" The word seemed almost painfully loud, and John realised it was the first thing either of them had said since stepping into the swanky lobby. Matt nodded, almost minutely, and John went hunting. He found a passable bottle of Irish whiskey and poured out a few fingers for each of them.

He sat at the foot of the bed and reached out for Matt's hand, gently curling his fingers around the glass. Matt smiled and felt for the edge of the mattress with his free hand and sat down. There were mere inches between them, crackling with electricity, but John was hesitant to move. They drank in silence for a few moments, and John welcomed the sharp heat that spread down his throat and into his belly. 

He took Matt's empty glass and placed it on the floor with his own. The bedside lamps were on and the soft, warm light gilded Matt's hair like a halo. The imagery was not lost on John. For a brief moment, he found himself wondering what the fuck he thought he was doing here. Matt was too good for this, too good to be wasting time with someone like John.

"John..." Matt's voice was low and gentle, drawing his attention. "Don't make me do this. I can tell where you are, but I can't do detail. If you don't kiss me right now, I'm going to lean in and put my nose in your eye and ruin the moment."

That was all the invitation John needed. His worry and inhibition melted away. Torn between care and eager impatience, he pushed at Matt's shoulders, coaxing him down until they tumbled onto the bed together. His hands skimmed up Matt's sides, fingertips brushing the soft cotton of his shirt. John's mouth found Matt's and it was just as warm and pliant as he'd remembered. He dragged his teeth over Matt's bottom lip and slipped his tongue in as Matt gasped. They kissed hungrily, as if making up for lost time. Eventually John pulled away to suck in a great gulp of air, and Matt made an impish face. "Your cigarettes are stale."

"I wasn't expecting to share them, honestly. American smokes are vile, I had to drag some along with me." Matt snorted out a quiet laugh, and John found himself chuckling too.

He heard the soft thud of shoes falling onto the plush carpet and groaned as he felt Matt's foot stroking the back of his calf. He pushed himself up off the mattress just enough to find Matt's tie with his free hand. Never breaking the kiss, still nipping and licking at Matt's lips and tongue, he fumbled enough to loosen Matt's tie and pull it off before fussing with his own.

Matt slid his hands up to John's chest as John pulled away just enough to gasp for air. He rested his forehead against Matt's and groaned quietly as Matt made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged it off, shifting his weight from one arm to the other as he freed his hands. It fell in a rumpled pile on the floor, no doubt joining their ties.

John sat up, straddling Matt's hips, and shifted his weight so he could just take him in. It was the first time he'd really _seen_ the man, flushed and smiling and eager. The church had been so dim and cavernous, and neither of them had undressed. He took his time now, lips and fingers ghosting over new bruises, old scars, and the soft hair across Matt's sternum as he undid the buttons on Matt's shirt. He grinned to himself as Matt sighed, almost imperceptibly leaning up to meet John's touches.

He tugged the hem of Matt's shirt out of his trousers, flicking his fingers over the belt buckle. He looked up at Matt's face, still more flushed than before. He undid the buckle, sliding the belt out of the way and slipped his fingertips under the waistband.

"Okay?" he asked, shocked at how ragged and desperate he sounded.

Matt nodded. "Yeah. Hell, yes." Hearing his voice was reassuring to John; Matt sounded nearly as raspy as he did. With the ardent encouragement, he made quick work of Matt's flies, tugging the trousers down Matt's hips. He shimmied slightly, raising up off the mattress enough so John could slide them down and off. He chuckled, noticing Matt had two different coloured socks on, and wondered if it was intentional or just that he hadn't been able to tell. From what little he knew of the man, either explanation seemed plausible. He tugged them off and threw them to the floor as well. It would take them time to find everything and get dressed later, but he couldn't make himself care at the moment.

John's eyes roved over every inch of Matt's body. Pale skin interrupted only by a pair of dark maroon pants, highlighting the swell of an eager cock. Matt's body was battered, but no less beautiful for it. "Christ," he whispered. "You should see yourself like this..."

The moment the words had crossed his lips, he regretted them, but Matt merely laughed, a flush creeping down his chest.

"I meant..." John stammered, cursing himself inwardly for ruining the moment.

Matt reached out, patting John's hip softly. "I know what you meant. Stop worrying." He hooked his fingertips into the waistband of John's trousers and tugged impatiently. John took the hint and stood, shucking his trousers and his pants. For a moment he felt embarrassed, standing nude at the foot of the bed. Matt laughed, a quiet little puff of air escaping his lips. Yet again, John found himself wondering how much the man was able to perceive.

"Heat. I can..." he paused, as if he were looking for the right word. "Not see it, obviously. But I can tell when parts of someone are flush with blood. Usually it's the cheeks if they're embarrassed, the throat if they're lying. Sometimes..." with a smirk, he crossed his arms behind his head, eyes downcast. John was never one to be embarrassed by nudity, but he felt more exposed now than he could ever recall feeling in his life. "Sometimes," Matt repeated, "the blood rushes elsewhere, and I can tell. Especially if there's no clothing in the way. Now get back over here, would you?"

John didn't have to be asked twice. He clambered back up onto the bed, settling between Matt's propping himself up on his elbows. Slowly, to ensure Matt could tell where he was, John leaned in for another feverish kiss, breaking it off only to drag his lips along Matt's jaw, rough with a few days stubble. It made his lips tingle, but in the best sort of way. He worked his way down the muscled expanse of Matt's torso, trying to be slow and methodical but not quite succeeding. Matt didn't seem to mind at all; while John's focus was on his lips and tongue and teeth dragged over Matt's warm skin, suckling and nipping here and there, Matt's own hands were stroking aimlessly up and down whatever skin he could apparently reach.

Shifting back on the ridiculously huge bed, John settled further between Matt's parted legs and dipped his head, mouthing at the pants barely restraining Matt's prick. Matt gasped, his fingers finding their way into John's hair and tugging in a thoroughly pleasant manner. John sucked the head of Matt's cock, soaking through the thin cotton before pulling back just enough to ghost a warm breath over it. Matt shuddered, and John could feel gooseflesh crawling across his skin wherever their bodies met. He smirked to himself.

Gently, he hooked his thumbs under the elastic waist and pulled Matt's pants up and away from his body, staring greedily as his cock sprang free, full and thick and glistening. From pre-come or saliva, John wasn't certain, but at this point it didn't really matter one way or another. He pulled the pants down Matt's legs, admiring the contours of well-muscled thighs and calves as he went. John wondered briefly how he explained the condition of his body to anyone else who saw him in this state; no blind lawyer would have any reasonable justification to be so fit, or so regularly bruised... John brushed the thought away as he cupped Matt's heel, gently pulling the pants off and flinging them into the abyss where all their other clothes had ended up.

Growling, he crawled up the bed, bracketing Matt's supine body with his own. He rested his knees outside of Matt's hips, rested his hands above Matt's shoulders. He looked down and once again he'd swear Matt could see him. See right through him. And then he realised he'd come ill-prepared. The truth was he hadn't really expected to be welcomed so warmly. He definitely hadn't expected to end up in a posh hotel room with sheets that likely cost more than his entire wardrobe, with a hot, naked, eager Matthew Murdock under him. He cursed quietly.

"What's wrong?" Matt's voice was careful and hesitant, as he reached up and brushed his fingertips along John's jaw line.

"I didn't quite think this far ahead, I'm afraid." John hung his head, inwardly cursing himself and his plaguing, nagging self-doubt. From this point on, he swore he'd keep protection in his wallet.

Matt laughed, a loud, raspy affair that seemed to echo through the hotel room. "Don't look at me, I certainly wasn't anticipating this." He shrugged and then rolled his hips under John, closing the gap between their bodies. The head of his cock slipped fluidly into the crease at John's hip, and they both gasped.

"Fuck it," John murmured, lowering his body to press flush against the man beneath him. "There's plenty of other ways to occupy our time." He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been hoping for a good hard fuck, but forgoing both condoms and lube was out of the question. Undaunted, he braced all his weight on one arm and brought the other to Matt's lips. He pressed his fingers gently, coaxing Matt to open his mouth. He got the hint immediately, not only welcoming John's fingertips but sucking them deeply into his mouth, tracing them with the tip of his tongue, getting John's hand good and soaked. The sucking sensation went straight to John's groin, and he felt his cock twitching against Matt's hip. Matt moaned softly, the noise reverberating through John's fingers, coaxing him to thrust against the soft skin at the top of Matt's thigh.

Matt released John's fingers and he slid his hand down between them. He took Matt in hand first, gripping his shaft and pumping his fist a few times, getting him good and slick. With a groan, he did the same to himself. He buried his face in Matt's throat, inhaling the salt and the sweat and the city he carried on his shoulders like a mantle.

Slowly, he shifted his weight until his cock brushed against Matt's. They were both slick enough that everything slipped smoothly into place and he groaned as he felt the head of Matt's cock pressing against his own. Tentatively, he pumped his hips, thrusting them tightly together, and the noise that escaped Matt's lips was a thing of utter beauty.

John shifted his weight, wrapping his arms around Matt's torso instead of holding himself up. Matt grunted and gasped, spreading his legs further and wrapping them around John's thighs. The position brought them impossibly closer together, every minute shift causing the pressure in John's groin to throb. He could feel Matt's prick somehow getting harder, thicker, as they began to move properly.

With every movement bringing their bodies closer together, they fell into a brutal rhythm in what felt like no time at all. It was like a feedback loop, like every groan and gasp from Matt was amplified as John took it in and returned the favour. He dragged his teeth along Matt's collarbone before tracing the tip of his tongue up along Matt's throat. He didn't need enhanced senses or super-hearing to feel the frenetic fluttering of Matt's pulse in his carotid.

"Fuck," he gasped out as Matt undulated beneath him. "Who needs bloody condoms. I'm not going to last like this..."

Matt grunted incoherently, his nails running up and down John's spine, sending tendrils of furious heat through his body. Their bodies rocked together, and John felt the tension building deep inside of him as Matt's prick rubbed against his own, his foreskin sliding up and swallowing the head with every thrust. He felt his body tightening, felt the orgasm hovering on the edges of his awareness. He bit his lip and tried to fight it, wanting to prolong whatever time they had together.

"Go on..." Matt gasped. "I can feel you. I can feel you trying to hold back. I want you to."

Trembling, John let out a low, guttural moan. He could no more deny Matt his request than hold back the tides. His body went rigid as he succumbed, his cock throbbing and twitching in the tight warm space between their bodies. He felt himself spilling against Matt's body, felt the scrape of the coarse, curled hair around Matt's prick. With a shudder, he thrust once, twice more, trying to draw his climax out for as long as he could. He gasped in air, thinking he was done, and Matt crested the same wave. The second flood of wet heat between them was like a punch in the gut, and John's own cock gave a nigh-painful twitch, one last ripple running through his body.

From the way Matt's breath stuttered and his skin crawled, he was equally over-stimulated. At least, John hoped so. Carefully, he rolled onto his back so he was lying next to Matt's body. He could still feel the heat between them, the nearly-palpable tension.

"I'll go get us a towel then, shall I?" he said, quietly. He'd never been particularly good at this whole _afterwards_ thing when it came to casual hookups with near-strangers, but he didn't think it would be polite or responsible to abandon a naked blind man in an unfamiliar hotel. And, if he were being honest, a part of him wasn't ready to escape yet.

He shuffled into the bathroom, which was larger than some of his flats back home had been, and scrounged up a few enormous towels. He cleaned himself off quickly, then dampened one more and headed back towards the bed, but not before leaning against the door frame and taking a moment or two to admire the shape of the man relaxing in it.

Sitting down gently on the edge of the bed, he leaned over and carefully wiped the drying spunk from Matt's stomach. He found himself having oddly protective feelings, ones he knew he'd probably get thumped for if he said anything. Matt smirked and took the towel from John's hands, finishing the job off more efficiently.

John found himself dying for a smoke, but he knew if he got dressed and headed downstairs, he'd probably take the coward's route and not come back upstairs. Sighing, he shifted his weight on the edge of the mattress.

Matt chuckled again and patted the wide, empty expanse of the bed on his other side. "I'm not going anywhere. And you don't need to. If you don't want, I mean. And light up. There are four other people on this floor alone smoking in their rooms, despite the regulations. One more won't make a difference." It was uncanny, the way he could read John.

"I suppose we have paid through the night," John murmured, acquiescing. He got up and cracked the window before walking around to the other side of the bed and fumbling through his trousers for his lighter as he did so. He settled in, leaning against the headboard. Matt shifted slightly, until his head was just barely pressing on John's shoulder.

"May as well take advantage of it while we still can," Matt said. John smirked, reading the undertone of the statement. Neither of them was just talking about the room any more. Sighing, he pulled the sheet up to cover them somewhat. He took a drag on his cigarette and blew out towards the window, contributing to the miasma that was New York City.

"While we still can, yes," he whispered. It was barely more than a breath, but he was certain he'd been heard.


End file.
